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After my rebirth, I proactively placed the divorce agreement in front of Maxwell. He didn’t even glance at it, tossing it aside: “I won’t give you custody of our son.”
“I don’t want custody.” Maxwell looked up: “Have you come to your senses?”
“I have.”
In my previous life, I clung to Maxwell for decades because I couldn’t bear to leave my son, until he grew up. But on his wedding day, in front of everyone, he said, “I hope my mom can make my dad and Aunt Sienna happy. Aunt Sienna has been with my dad for so many years, it hasn’t been easy for her.”
Jack, eight years old, lay on the ground throwing a tantrum, as if nothing could be done to change his mind. This scene repeated every day.
I insisted he finish his homework before playing. I didn’t allow him to watch TV for more than half an hour. I permitted him to eat fried chicken and hamburgers only once a week. I set many rules for him, hoping he would develop good habits.
But when Sienna appeared, all those rules turned into a joke. He accused me: “Aunt Sienna never makes me do homework; she only takes me out to play. She also doesn’t stop me from eating chicken legs; she says boys need to eat more to grow tall. I don’t like you at all; I wish Aunt Sienna could be my mom.”
In my previous life, even though these words hurt, I chose to forgive. I thought he was just too young to understand, and he would appreciate my efforts when he grew up.